


Bruises

by theflowerchildandthepunk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Domestic Violence, Draco loves Harry, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Not between Harry and Draco, but theyre just friends, honestly i have no idea why i wrote this, very brief mention of hermione and ron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:28:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28814166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theflowerchildandthepunk/pseuds/theflowerchildandthepunk
Summary: Draco whimpered when Harry brushed his fingertips against the worst of it, his dark skin stained red when he pulled them back. Draco stared at it numbly, faintly realizing that it was his blood on Harry’s gentle fingers and he had to squash the bubble of hysterical laughter that was threatening to pour out of his mouth.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Original Male Character(s)
Kudos: 77





	Bruises

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. this is honestly such a mess, i really don't think i can claim it was an indulgence for myself because i didn't plan on writing something like this at all
> 
> 2\. this is very unedited. very unedited, like "i'm at work on the iso unit and i wrote half of it asleep and the other half three days ago" unedited. apologies in advance
> 
> 3\. comments and kudos are always nice, if you're in the mood to give them
> 
> 4\. a very tentative enjoy? i don't even know if it makes much sense to be honest, good luck

Sometimes the only thing left to do is run. Pack a bag quietly in the middle of the night, slip in more sentiment than practicality and hope that one day it doesn’t hurt so much to think about all of the good times that were shared. That it’ll get easier to breathe the longer they aren’t around to seep deep into bone, settling like an anchor to keep you grounded when your flight or fight kicked in years ago; and it had always been  _ flight _ . 

Draco was a coward. Had been since he was 16 and couldn’t conjure up the guts to send the killing curse flying across the Astronomy Tower, hands shaking and so slick with sweat that it had been a surprise that he hadn’t dropped his wand as soon as he raised it. But in the end it was what saved him, what made him go running to the man who had been dragging him out of trouble for as long as he could remember. Harry Potter was a force of magic that no one thought to even provoke, swirling dark clouds looming over his body on a daily basis when things were going  _ well  _ for him. Harry Potter when he had a calm rage in his eyes and three fingers already curled around his wand, blind to anything other than the danger that threatened the ones he loved? 

Well, his had always been fight.

*********

_ It had started off innocently enough, all those months ago. Draco hadn’t even thought anything of it when Zachary had huffed and glared when he had been getting ready for his standing Tuesday night dinner with Potter, just pressed a kiss against Zachary’s cheek and threw a laugh over his shoulder when Zachary continued to pout on his way out of the door. It was something that Draco and Potter had been doing for years now, six to be exact, and long before Zachary had whirled into Draco’s life with his smooth charm and switchblade smile. _

_ “I don’t like sharing you with him,” Zachary had grumbled when Draco stumbled into their flat hours later, pleasantly tipsy on Firewhiskey. “He always seems to get the best of you while I’m just left with the scraps you salvage together like an afterthought.” _

_ Draco had been sympathetic, because he got it. He really did, sometimes he felt like that with Potter and their friendship; Granger and Weasley taking up so much of his heart that it was wild to comprehend that he still had plenty of it left over to offer to Draco. But Zachary had just shaken his head and yanked back his arm when Draco reached for him, storming to their bedroom and slamming the door so hard behind him that the picture of he and Draco on their second anniversary had fallen to the floor, glass shattering against the hardwood. _

_ Draco hadn’t thought about it until later, looking at the spiderweb cracks in the glass that even magic couldn’t fix while Zachary raged behind him, but it had been a promise for what was to come. _

*********

Draco shuddered when Potter ( _ Harry, he was always Harry when Draco came to him broken down and homesick and just needing something he couldn’t put into words _ ) wrapped his arms around Draco’s shoulders and yanked him inside the sunny yellow house that was as familiar to Draco as his own flat. There was just something about the horrendously mismatched curtains and ever present hum of the Wireless that soothed the raw edges of Draco’s nerves, peace seeping into his bones and wrenching a sob from his throat.

“It’s alright, love, I’ve got you,” Harry soothed, and Draco winced when the split skin of his lip rubbed against Harry’s neck after he burrowed as close to the heat of Harry that he could get. He hadn’t even thought to heal it, just Apparated straight to Harry’s doorstep. He hadn’t thought to heal any of it, and when Harry pulled back to get a better look at his face, he wished that he had.

It was always a rush to see Harry get properly pissed, his green eyes going brighter than normal and a flush rising high on his cheekbones. Draco had been helplessly fond when Harry had turned that particularly murderous look towards a witch who had a few choice things to say about him for the first time, but standing in the middle of his living room and looking like he had lost a battle against a troll wasn’t what he wanted. Not when he knew that Harry could easily see the indention on his cheekbone, a perfect match to the gaudy familial crest ring that Zachary wore on his left hand.

Draco whimpered when Harry brushed his fingertips against the worst of it, his dark skin stained red when he pulled them back. Draco stared at it numbly, faintly realizing that it was  _ his blood _ on Harry’s gentle fingers and he had to squash the bubble of hysterical laughter that was threatening to pour out of his mouth.

  
  


“I’ll kill him.”

Draco shook his head at Harry’s threat, hands clutching desperately at Harry’s jumper. He knew that Harry meant it, knew that he was perfectly capable of flaying Zachary alive and leaving him to bleed out on the living room floor. But he fucking  _ needed _ Harry right now, needed him to somehow shove the shattered pieces of Draco back together again. Just long enough that Draco could tell him what happened, could explain that it hadn’t always been like this; that Zachary had _ loved  _ him before everything ripped apart at the seams.

Harry lead him to the sofa, pressing him into the soft leather. He resisted the urge to sink further into it, reaching for Harry instead and he wrapped his arms around Draco like he had been doing for years; one hand slipping into his hair while the other rested heavily on his hip. Draco didn’t even realize that he was shaking until Harry tightened his arms, caging Draco against his body, and he jumped a bit when he felt the cut on his lip sting; the salty tears that had been rolling down his cheeks finally making contact with the open skin.

*********

_ The first time Zachary had met Harry, he had been unimpressed and Draco had been proud. Proud that he had  _ finally  _ found someone who didn’t see Harry as anything other than one of Draco’s friends instead of The Boy Who Lived. Proud that he had brought someone around that Harry seemed to like, no hidden sneers and raised eyebrows that Draco had to ignore until the next morning, usually when he was letting his partner down easy - it wasn’t like he could explain that Harry was always the biggest deciding factor, so he settled for the age old “it’s not you, it’s me” that fell easily from his lips. _

_ The last time Zachary had seen Harry, he had sneered and clamped a hand around Draco’s wrist when he started to stand up and wave him over to their table. Draco had felt the bones grinding together, knew that he would end up with a broken bracelet of bruises that he would have to cover up with uncomfortable long sleeves in the middle of the summer, when he tried to tug out of Zachary’s grip.  _

_ “I swear to fucking God, Draco, if you don’t sit the fuck down and just shut up; I’m going to break your goddamned nose,” Zachary had hissed, and Draco had been stunned - stunned so badly that he stopped struggling against the hand holding him in place and blinked slowly at the man who was supposed to be in love with him.  _

*********

“How long?” Harry growled, and Draco flinched against his chest but burrowed closer anyway. Harry might sound pissed, but he would  _ never _ hurt Draco; something that Draco knew deep in his soul despite his current track record of men he had been absolutely positive would never lay a hand on him.

Draco slid his hands under Harry’s shirt, pressing his cold hands against warm skin and counted to ten in his head. “It hasn’t been that long, not really, just - just a few months, and honestly it’s never been this bad before. So.”

He felt Harry tense underneath his palms, muscles locking together and Draco dragged his hands up and down Harry’s sides in a pathetic attempt to comfort him. Not that Harry  _ needed _ comfort, he really didn’t and Draco knew that. But he would rather he comfort Harry instead of Harry disappearing out from beneath him.

Harry pressed his fingertips to the base of Draco’s neck,  _ thump, thump, thump _ -ing in time with the pulse that beat wildly there. Draco knew what he wanted, just tilted his head back enough that Harry could move his fingers from neck to temple and watched as the silvery wisp of his memory floated towards the pensieve in the corner of the living room.

He wasn’t quite sure how Harry did it - didn’t really care, honestly. He just knew that when he turned his head towards the wall that the images from his memory would be on it, like the Muggle projector that Harry liked to play his movies on. It was just another constant of Harry that Draco accepted.

Harry could do unbelievable feats of magic without the use of his wand, or a spell.

Harry always smelled like lemongrass and pine trees and  _ home. _

Harry once knocked out a reporter that was harassing Draco, wore his bruised knuckles with pride for two weeks.

Harry was the best friend Draco ever had.

Harry would watch the ugly memory and press kisses against Draco’s temple, and then he would fire-call Ron and Hermione to come sit with Draco for a few hours.

Harry would fight.

Harry would come back home, with more bruised knuckles and probably a busted lip and a black eye and Draco would  _ melt _ like a complete and utter idiot - the kind of idiot that accepted a long time ago that he was in love with his best friend but knew that nothing would ever come out of it, that he could never  _ let _ anything come out of it because Harry was too important to him to ruin on the off-chance that they could actually work.

But when Harry turned his head to watch the horrible memory, watch how Zachary had pinned Draco to the floor by his neck and ruined him in ways that Draco would never be able to repeat to anyone but Harry, Draco let himself settle into Harry. Let himself pretend, for just a moment - so he wouldn’t completely fall apart and lose all the parts of himself, that Harry loved him back in the way that Draco would always love him.


End file.
